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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117267">Book 2: Caustic Crowns</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianparrish/pseuds/magicianparrish'>magicianparrish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kingdoms of Suns and Moons [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Betrayal, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Secret Alliances, War, broganes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:34:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianparrish/pseuds/magicianparrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Book 2, of the voltron/adashi kingdom au!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam &amp; Keith &amp; Shiro (Voltron), Adam &amp; Keith (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Keith &amp; Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kingdoms of Suns and Moons [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue/ Lotor I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ahhh! Book 2 is here and ready to rumble! I hope you enjoy this prologue I have written. </p><p>If you're just joining us, I would highly suggest you go back and read Book 1: Winds of Change, and the lil sister fic in this collection before coming back over to this, because things may not make sense to you otherwise. :) </p><p>(Not beta'd or edited)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As they rode, the border between the Galra Empire and the Old Altean Empire became clear. The horses came to a slow trot, as they made their way up the long-abandoned roads. The trade routes that once were used by the great civilizations of old during the Age of Empires, when the world seemed more connected to one another, and were independent of the Galra’s iron fist. The roads that once were a marvel to the entire world now were reduced to cracked stones, and overgrown weeds; abandoned to the sands of a history long forgotten by many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they got closer, the infamous eternal fog that engulfed all of the Altae Peninsula became more visible. It was as if an invisible wall had been erected; the fog never went further than the old political boundaries. It was dense, and one couldn’t see through it. Old Altea always had a mystique about it, even before its collapse a millennia ago. It brought the curious, adventurous, and the daring from all over, even as far east as the Jade Islands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lotor had read all the stories of Old Altea growing up. He had been fascinated by them; the people, their culture, their politics, </span>
  <em>
    <span>their magic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Anything he could get his hands on he would read. He wanted to know about it all, leaving no stone unturned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This lifelong interest stemmed from his own personal history. He had been born of an Altean mother; an exile from the New Kingdom to the west. Lotor had been subjected to all the baggage that came with it, on top of being the crown prince and future heir to the Galra Empire. Since the day he’d been born, his every move had been scrutinized by political pundits, and adversaries, the royal court, and the people of the Empire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it had become apparent that Lotor did not have the same hunger for violence his father and others in the noble courts of the Empire, he was swiftly cast aside; left to the mercy of the Head Druid Haggar, and his tutors. He often considered this independence a blessing in disguise in the long run. He had been able to dedicate his life and studies to his people and its history. He read and observed all the past mistakes his people made; all the violence and carnage they brought to the world under the false pretense of peace and prosperity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he got older, he got bolder. He started taking unsanctioned trips to the farthest and poorest parts of the Empire. Talking to local leaders, not just as their crown prince and future emperor, but as their ally. Lotor thrived doing this work. He felt as if his life truly had meaning for the first time. He helped bring funds and resources to these long-neglected towns and its people were desperately in need of. He helped bring them back to the flourishing places they once had been long ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lotor spent years rebuilding these long burned bridges within the empire. He created connections that would help bring stability to the Empire; not through force and fear, but through trust and mutual respect. He vowed he would make it his life’s work; something he could dedicate himself to that he could be proud of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those were hopes and dreams of another lifetime. He had been careful to keep his endeavors from his father’s sights. But his father came to know nonetheless. Emperor Zarkon had gone and led a vicious military campaign against every place Lotor had helped. He and his troops killed innocent civilians, plundered all the new wealth they had, and burned them to the ground until all that was left were ashes and salt. And he made Lotor watch helplessly as he did it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These towns are upstarts, and they need to remember who their real master still is,” Zarkon grumbled to his only son and heir as the flames and smoke licked high into the night sky as a small town, an old oasis town on the banks of the ancient river, known to history as the Sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have put these poisonous and treasonous thoughts in their heads,” he continued. “Because you are my son, and royalty, I will give you this one mercy. Lotor, effective immediately you are stripped of your rights as heir to the Galra throne, and shall be exiled for the remainder of your days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lotor, who had looked on horrified at the scene in front of him, turned to his father gaping as his father’s words processed in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father-,” he protested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have lost the rights. I am now just Emperor Zarkon to you. And I order you out of my sight,” he cut off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The emperor’s pure yellow eyes continued to stare at the raging inferno ahead of him. Screams of civilians dying and fleeing for their lives could be heard along with the howling wind. A small triumphant smile was on his father’s face. Disgust had roiled inside of Lotor’s gut. Disgust and guilt and unbearable sorrow; he had brought this fate upon these people even when he only meant good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lotor had tried to process the thoughts running in his head. In the span of a minute, he went from being the crown prince to a disgraced exile. Just like his own mother had been. It was almost too much to bear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at Haggar; Zarkon’s eternal shadow. Her strongly white hair hung in front of her face like it always did. The long hood covered most of her face, except for the eerie yellow glow of her eyes, the jagged red scars that ran down her cheeks and her mouth. She wore a frown, different from the perpetual one. Lotor narrowed his eyes at the head druid, wanting to know what she was thinking. For a fleeting moment, Lotor hoped she would say something, anything. But she remained silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that is what you decree, so be it,” Lotor growled finally. Then he gave a mock bow and stormed out of the room, leaving the presence of his father, his witch, and his old life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ordeal happened years ago. And yet Lotor felt as if he had fallen back to square one again. Trying to find a purpose for his life, instead of wandering aimlessly forever. He was just waiting and hoping the right time would come to him, and he’d figure it out again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t really mean for us to go in there do you?” Ezor, one of his lieutenants asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her long auburn hair was tied in its usual high ponytail. Her blue eyes looking at the wall of smoke with unease. Her skin was rosier than usual thanks to the exposure of the sun. She put a hand over her eyes to block the rays and to see more clearly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” agreed Zethrid, another of his lieutenants. “I’d rather not die from walking into cursed land.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zethrid was a bulky and muscular woman. Standing taller than most people, she could easily be intimidating to all who met her. Her face was scarred from years of fighting, and hardened by sun exposure. Her eyes were black as night and always narrowed in suspicion. Her lavender hair was cut in a choppy way to her chin and she wore a bandana to keep it out of her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lotor had four lieutenants he kept close to him. In his years of exile, he had found them on his many travels. Like him, they were outcasts, and they were half-Galra. He had found kindred spirits in all of them, and was glad to have their company. It had made his recent years of life much more bearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all rode separate mounts and stopped at the border of the two empires. That close, he could see the fog lifting up across the invisible barrier. They all stared at it in wonder for a few moments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Going into the mythical fog of Old Altea was a death sentence. It was told as ghost stories to children to keep them behaving. No one who went there wished to come back to tell the tale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at his four companions. Acxa and Narti remained silent as they sat atop of their horses looking at the fog. Acxa’s face was pinched in suspicion, her violet eyes narrowed. She held the reins of her horse tightly enough for her knuckles to be white. Narti, who was blind stared blankly ahead. But her animal companion, her cat Kova who acted as her eyes, fluffed up and hissed at the fog ahead. Lotor could feel the old magic emanating off of it. Gooseflesh erupted on his arms, and he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lotor smiled. “No, my friends. Not today.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Keith I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More characters introduced in this chapter! Enjoy! </p><p>(Not edited or beta'd)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The hazy remnants of a dream lingered in Keith’s mind. Already they had started to fade, but the feeling of content continued to stay. His eyes remained closed, trying to keep the images close to him for as long as possible. Eyes as blue as the sky, and skin tanned by the sun; a melodic laugh as the waves crashed against a beach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remained in the darkness, but as he slowly started to come back to the land of the living, he could hear hushed whispers. The lapping of water was not just from his dream, but he could also hear it; the soft push and pull of a gentle boat. Keith fought the urge to startle up and fight his captors. He had to buy his time, and wait for the moment of attack. The familiar voice of Shiro echoed in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Patience yields focus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the famous phrase he always said. It had begun as serious advice, but slowly became more of an inside joke between the two of them. When his father, King Yamato had taken him in as his ward, Shiro had gravitated to him almost immediately. Shiro, who grew up alone with little companions, saw something in Keith. The crown prince of the north became like his surrogate brother. Keith looked up to him and wanted to make him proud. When he had shown prowess for fighting, Shiro had then taken him in as a makeshift squire. Teaching him the ways of knighthood, not just in weapons mastery, but how to act like a proper one too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s one thing to be able to wield a sword and win tourneys,” Shiro had said during one of their sparring matches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a mild summer day up in Koriyuden, as they fought in the bailey of the Moon Palace. Keith had been improving greatly every day, but he was still no match for Shiro, who towered over Keith, and was twice his size, and half his age. Shiro always tended to go easy on Keith, even if he demanded he didn’t. During that sparring match, Keith had held his own longer than he ever had before. The clanging of the practice swords echoed with the rest of the daily happenings at the castle. Servants were gossiping with each other as they walked to their duties, small children of the workers ran around playing pretend games, chickens walked in search of feed while making their presence known to all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” Shiro continued. He then pulled in closer to Keith and completed a disarming move, effectively knocking Keith’s sword, and Keith to the ground. He let out a “oof” as his butt hit the floor. Shiro sheathed his sword and walked over towards Keith. He held out his hand, as Keith looked up to his brother and mentor. He took it and Shiro helped heave him up from the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s also about helping people get back up when they are knocked down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith dusted himself off as Shiro put on a pondering look on his face. He scratched his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe that’s a king duty,” he said. Then he shrugged his shoulders with an easy smile. He looked at Keith, his gray eyes bright. “Knighthood and kinghood tend to overlap in many ways. But what I said still stands. Wielding a sword and being good at it is easy. Being the bigger person is much harder, but also much more rewarding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith scoffed, rubbing his sore arm. “Easy for you to say. You make sparring and being  a good person effortless.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith admired Shiro from the beginning. He had made him feel welcome in a strange new place. He had just lost both of his parents, and his kingdom had been drowned in political upheaval with the sudden departure of the mysterious Queen Krolia. The council of advisers had thought it best to give Keith over to a place that was more stable, and King Yamato had volunteered to take the place. Shiro never treated him as an outsider, and that was the thing that stood out to Keith the most. He treated him like any other person and helped him adjust to the culture shock. And he let Keith be a kid. They played around, they pulled pranks, snuck extra dessert from under the cooks' noses late at night. They would ride their horses in Wolf’s Wood and see how fast they could go while doing crazy stunts with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro showed him infinite kindness when Keith needed it the most, and Keith would always be grateful for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had laughed and put an arm around Keith’s shoulders, bringing him close. “You think I was born like that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Keith said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His older brother had clicked his tongue as they started to walk out of the bailey and into the castle proper. The crown prince waved at all the people they passed in the stone hallways with a friendly smile. Keith could see how loved and adored he was by his people; all because he treated them with basic decency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you’d be mistaken, my dear young squire,” he said in jest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith had scoffed and pushed Shiro, which caused him to erupt in laughter. He knew that Keith didn’t like being called that but Shiro always did it to rile him up. Though in technical terms Keith was considered Shiro’s squire, he still just thought of them as brothers. An older brother taking his younger one under his wing. Keith was probably the best-treated squire in the seven kingdoms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued walking side by side together. Just as they came to two large oak doors with beautiful crescent moons carved into it, the bell that tolled for lunch rang loud and clear. Shiro looked at Keith with a big smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect timing. I shall continue my little story while we eat. Hopefully, it’s good today,” he said with a wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat at the head table in the feast hall. Servants came to give them food and drink, and the hall remained quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I was saying. I was not born this way you know. But as you experience life, it tends to shape you into the person you’ll be. Though I say you’re always changing as you continue the journey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He speared a piece of white cod on his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. He waggled his fork in Keith’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Change is not always a bad thing, remember that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith let out a small chuckle. “I’ll try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not try, you will. That’s an order from your future king,” Shiro mock commanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rolled his eyes. “Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your grace</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had his cheeks full of food, so when he smiled he looked like a guppy fish. Keith sometimes found it so hard to believe that this Shiro was the same who spouted wisdom like he had lived eighty years. Keith took little bites of the salted cod as well, enjoying the flavors of the food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, I learned a lot about kindness from a friend,” Shiro said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, a friend? Is this friend a certain crown prince of Shamslaka?” Keith teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother’s face flushed a bright red; as it did any time someone brought up Prince Adam. One of the famed Sun Twins, and the man that Shiro was helplessly in love with. Keith had never met the man at that point, but Shiro waxed poetic about him any chance he got, so he figured he must be at least halfway decent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he said. Keith gave him an unamused look and Shiro rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s Adam.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, on a first-name basis,” Keith cooed as he hid a smirk behind his cup.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smacked him in the arm. “Shut up. Adam is the kindest and most selfless person I know. When I stayed at the Sun Palace a few years back, I learned a lot from him, and how to be the best ruler I can be when my time comes. He’s the one who taught me that patience yields focus.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith let out a groan. “Oh great, so I have him to thank for that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had an affronted look on his face. “Hey! That is some good advice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s good advice when you don’t use it all the time. Now’s it more of a joke, and you know it, Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother had a pout on his face as he shoveled some rice into his mouth. “Whatever. It sounds better when Adam says it anyway,” he grumbled with his mouth full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith put the old memory of his brother to rest in the back of his mind. The hushed whispers of the people had ceased. He waited a moment before he decided to take a chance and opened his eyes. Above him were a dense canopy of trees, with no room for the sun to peek through. He turned his head to the side to see two figures gently rowing the boat in front of him. Keith startled looking at them. They were nothing like any people he had ever seen before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two were larger than any person he’d known. They were bulky and muscular. Their skin had a gray tone to it, and they were androgynous-looking. They wore simple clothes, in shades of brown and green. They had no hair, and where their ears should’ve been, were instead large crests of cartilage. One had hoop-shaped earrings on these crests. They had four small dark horns on top of their head.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shuffled and realized that his wrists and ankles had been tied together. He let out a grunt as he tried to sit up, and it brought the attention of the two people. They turned around, and Keith was struck by their eyes. They were solid yellow and had a glow about them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he’s awake!” one said. Their voice was feminine and soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both looked next to Keith, and he saw that Adam was in the same position Keith had been in. Wrists and ankles tied together, but he was still knocked out. He looked almost peaceful. Keith took some solace that they were both still alive for the time being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not necessarily a good thing, Shay,” the other said. His voice was deep and cutting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you? What do you want with us?” Keith demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boat they were in came to a stop, instead, letting the soft currents of the river lull them in. It was eerily silent in the forest, where there should have been noise from wildlife. Both of the mysterious people shared a look with each other as if they were having a silent conversation. The person, who Keith had come to assume was the woman pursed her lips and folded her hands together. The man crossed his arms in an unwelcoming manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We found them for a reason, Rax. the prophecy!” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know the prophecy!” he bit out. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman, Shay nodded her head. She then turned around to Keith and had a small smile on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for the way we took you and your friend off guard. But it was the only way without you putting up a fight. I’m Shay, and this is my brother Rax,” she introduced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wasn’t about to share his name with strangers. “What are you? Where are you taking us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shay let out a wince and Rax a growl of annoyance. She winced and pursed her lips tightly together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re Balmerans,” she admitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes widened. Balmerans… the first people who lived on the continent. It had been widely believed and accepted that they were wiped extinct during the Wars of Bloody Conflict, along with the original Olkarians, against the First Peoples. His and Adam’s and Shiro’s ancestors; the people who had come to Voltronous to escape the wars their own people and the Galra had waged across the Arus Sea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hardly believe his eyes. The Balmerans were still living and surviving, hidden in the shadows for generations away from prying eyes. Keith felt as if he had been sucked into the times of history and into a fairytale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, a loud groan was heard. Keith turned his attention to Adam, whose face was pinched and slowly blinked his eyes open. He took a deep breath in and a loud exhale out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” he groaned. “Where are we?” His voice was slurred a little from sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shay took a knife that was made of bone and obsidian and slowly crawled across the small raft toward them. When Adam noticed them he let out a yelp of surprise, his eyes wide. Shay put her hands up in a sign of peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I cut your bonds, will you promise not to flee back into the water?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’d hate to have to knock you out again,” Rax added in a dry tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam looked over to Keith, questions clearly on his face. He mouthed </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the hell is happening</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Keith, who could really only shrug in response. But they both nodded in agreement. Shay gently cut the bonds off of them and the rope fell to the floor. Both he and Adam rubbed their wrists which were red and sore from the chafing. Shay gave a gentle smile to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I just said to your friend here, I’m Shay and that’s my brother Rax. We’re Balmerans,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam gasped, his eyes widening. Keith rolled his eyes. He knew how much Adam loved to read about everything. He often jested that he would’ve been much better off as a Master of the Citadel than a consort or prince. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh wow, this is amazing,” he breathed out. “It is an honor to meet you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light blush went across Shay’s face, and her brother scoffed unamused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Adam, king consort to King Takashi of Tsukoku,” he introduced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hit Adam in the arm, to which the older man gaped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” Keith hissed. “You don’t just introduce yourself to strangers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter. We already know who you are. Keith of Samawang, and Adam of Shamslaka,” Rax said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How-” Keith started to protest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rax waved him off. “It matters not how we know. We just do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shay seemed to be much more comfortable with them, she smiled bigger at them. “You are part of the prophecy, and it is our job to help ferry you to where you need to be. We are taking you to Bal Uticixa.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam tilted his head. “The old capital? All that remains are ruins I thought.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The old city, yes. But we have adapted, as Balmerans always do. We are taking you to the hidden city. It is where all the Lions of Voltron will meet to begin their journey to fulfill the prophecy,” she said.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Drop a comment below!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Kuron I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Not edited or beta'd)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sky seemed to be in a perpetual overcast. Gray clouds covered, leaving little sun to shine through, and casting a sense of melancholy over the land. The first snow had already fallen, coating Koriyuden and the northern part of Tsukoku in white. It was much too early though, autumn still in full swing. The signs of that meant that it would be a rough winter for all if the harvests did not wield enough grain in time before winter spread its frosty fingers. The dull and long winters were not missed by Kuron. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His transition to power as the new king of Tsukoku was swift and surprisingly peaceful. He could tell that the people who now served him did not respect him, but allowed him to sit on the Moon Throne for the sole fact that he did have royal blood, as the younger brother to Takashi, or Shiro as he always insisted on being called. They didn’t respect him but in time he would command it of them. The death of Queen Dowager Masako came with the traditional mourning period. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuron had only scarce encounters with his grandmother, but he respected her bravery. She had been through much in her long life if her tale she told Kuron in her last moments could be believed. Masako had always treated him better than most when he came to visit Koriyuden. He had no qualms against her. She had done what was necessary to keep the peace, and from Tsukoku descending into a civil war, due to the hasty actions of the grandfather he never met. Though in the end, Kuron was the one who had to face the consequences of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like she had declared, the Master had determined that Masako had died of natural causes. The poison she had ingested silent, swift, and invisible. He gave her the proper rights, had her body burned, and had her ashes put into an urn to be buried in the crypts where all the Kings and their consorts lay to rest for eternity. It had been a traditional ceremony, with the prayers and last rights given by the High Tendi. As the only living family to the Queen Dowager, Kuron had entered the crypts to see her ashes buried. A stonemason had already begun to create her statue that would accompany her, and watch over forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been a fortnight ago. Kuron found the words of Masako haunting his thoughts and his dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could still see her sitting in the chair by the lone table in the darkroom. The only light from candles she had lit. Her eyes which were black as night, but sharp as obsidian looked deep into his soul. Her hands which were thin and wrinkled, but covered in beautiful rings, holding the simple chalice that held her poison. She had held it during their entire conversation, her swirling the liquid but never taking a sip until the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your victory will not taste as sweet as you imagine it,” her strong voice had said to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the time Kuron had only thought her to be bluffing. An old woman who grew spiteful at the deck life had dealt her, and taking it out on whoever was convenient. But now as she haunted his dreams, the smirk she wore as she spoke to him became clear. She knew exactly what she was saying and what it would mean to Kuron, who had still been basking in his false glory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The castle which had been empty when he had come looking for his crown, now seemed desolate. He was alone, surrounded by the snows and the cold of Tsukoku. The kingdom he had so desperately wanted for himself most of his life. But now he did not know what to do next. He had never thought further than placing the crown on his head and sitting upon the throne. He had not been trained all his life for this position like Takashi had been. He did not know the intricacies of domestic and international politics. The positions in his court that had to be filled, and those who worked for House Shirogane and did not trust Kuron. The Master, Hakoda tried to teach Kuron the best he could, but it was a lifetime's worth of lessons. The servants scurried away when he came near them, hiding in their servant tunnels and quarters. The glory he had imagined quickly diminished to show what it really was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun had just started to peak from behind Hiroto’s High Hill. The place that all the rulers of Tsukoku took their eternal vows to their consorts. The place that Takashi would’ve wed that southern prince on that beautiful winter dawn; the same wedding he fled from. Just as he had run from everything else in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he made his way towards the royal crypts, the two guards who were always posted at the doors stood at attention. Kuron waved them away and they stepped back to allow him entrance. The door opened and the stairs that led underground faced him. He took a torch from one of the walls to help him light his way. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see Kuron at the gates. He had been coming nearly every other day. He couldn’t say why, but he felt compelled to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he descended down the stairs the door closed behind him with a sense of finality. Cobwebs covered the walls and the low ceiling, making Kuron have to bow his head so he wouldn’t hit it. When he came to the antechamber, he turned left as he always did. More torches were lit in their eternal flames, so as the dead could always find their way to the afterlife and back. Kuron stopped in front of the statues nearest to the entrance. He lifted his torch so he could see them with more clarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Side by side were the statues of Takashi and his southern love, Adam. Takashi had a kind look on his face. Even in stone, the carvers were somehow able to get that gentle and playful light that his elder brother always seemed to have. A kind smile was on his face, as if he was looking at Kuron, even after everything, and was saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>I forgive you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He wore the traditional regalia of kings, his long hair half tied back and the moon crown placed on his head. The Ice Sword sheathed at his side. And as always on his shoulder was an eagle, as an eternal protector. The eagle's eyes were not as kind as his brother’s. He felt as if he was prey to their animal sigil.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>  Kuron looked to the southern prince that had stolen his brother’s heart. Among all the kings and queens of Tsukoku, it was odd seeing his features in stone. It did not feel right to Kuron. He had never liked the prince, and the prince never liked him. The crown prince had walked away from everything, for what? For </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He was to be the king of one of the most prosperous kingdoms in the world, and he gave it all up so he could slowly freeze in the tundra of Koriyuden and in the stone crypts of northern rulers. Adam had been a fool, and he paid for it with his life. As his husband, his features were soft and kind looking. He wore a mix of traditional northern regalia but had mixed in some of his southern cultures too. Seeing him in the crypts with all the past kings and queens left a sour note in Kuron’s mouth. The statues were carved together, and their hands intertwined with each other. At the base was the epitaph that had been carved. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>King Takashi the Kind, and King Adam the Gentle. As they did in life, let them continue to love, be together in peace, and continue to watch over the people of Tsukoku for eternity. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuron had read the words a thousand times. Sometimes in his head, and sometimes aloud, letting his voice echo. No matter, it always left him feeling angry. What had been so great about his brother, and that upstart prince of his? What had they done in the short time they had ruled together? What made them so great as to be revered by all the people in the kingdom, from noble to peasant? Even in death, his brother haunted him with his shadow and legacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fury washed over Kuron. He took out the ice sword from its scabbard. In tradition, the ice sword was used only for the coronation and the handing out of justice. But Kuron had kept it for himself after he had been crowned king. A king such as himself only deserved the best sword in the land. He let out a ferocious scream and with both hands lifted the Ice Sword above his head and did a vicious cut downwards. The stone hands that had intertwined Takashi and Adam crumbled beneath the blade, falling to the ground below. Kuron was breathing heavily, and he felt his heart racing. He looked at the ground at the hands. Even then they were still together. He let out another scream of frustration and swung the sword again and again until all that was left were fragments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind was racing with a million thoughts. He read the epitaph again. And again. And again. He couldn’t stop. Takashi the Kind. Adam the Gentle. His own father had been Yamato the Quiet. His grandfather Hirohito the Terrible. Masako the Peacemaker. All names were given after their deaths, and how their legacies were cemented in history. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What will I be?” he mused to himself. “Kuron the Usurper?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stone statues did not respond. He dropped the ice sword to the ground, letting it clamor.  He walked away from his brother’s statue and went to his parents’. Their stone faces more familiar to him than they ever were when they had lived. His father’s thin mustache he always wore was above his lips which were in a neutral look. He had round spectacles over his eyes, and he was tall and lanky. He did not have the muscle that Hirohito or Takashi had. Yamato had been a bookish man, and intelligent. He had learned from his father’s mistakes and helped make peace in the kingdom. His mother’s hair was big loose in curls that made her young-looking. She held a smirk on her face but it was not malicious looking. Her chin was tilted up as if challenging any onlookers. Kuron always was compelled by his mother’s statue. He felt as if he saw a lot of himself in her. He wished he knew Natsumi more as not just the Queen, but as his mother. He tried not to linger on the what-ifs, but looking at her stone face made it difficult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only gazed at the state of his grandfather. The first time he saw it, he had screamed until he was hoarse, hoping that in whatever hell he was in, he could hear him. He wailed about how he had ruined his life because of his mistakes. How it wasn’t fair that he was the one who had to pay the price for his petty revenge plot. The statue of Hirohito towered over many. He looked like what a warrior king should. He was bulky and tall, and he had a face that was scarred over many times. His eyes were not kind like Takashi’s, or intelligent like his father’s. Even in stone, he could see they were hard and malicious. He did not look clean-cut like Yamato, but as if he had just come from battle. Kuron had wanted to take the statue apart with his own hands the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he looked at his parents he went back to his brother. The ghost that haunted him the most. The remnants of the hands he had just cut to pieces, to sever the bond between him and his love. His chest felt heavy with emotions. Next to the stone pieces, the ice sword lay. It would always belong to his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuron felt his face heat, and when he touched it he was surprised to find that he was crying. Tears came from his eyes, and he tried to wipe them, but they kept coming. He couldn’t stop it. He fell to his knees. Kuron felt as if he were at the mercy of his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not fair,” he sobbed. “It’s not fair that you got all the love and I got none of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at his brother’s kind face. He hated it. He did not want to see it. He wished he could see his brother. Have Takashi yell at him for ruining his life and cutting it short. For killing his husband and him, and their children, and their parents, and everyone else that had ever loved him or tried to. He wished that Takashi’s statue had the hard eyes of Hirohito’s or the chilly indifference that Yamato’s had. He stared at the place where he cut the hands as he wrangled with these thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a weight in his chest, and the longer he stared the heavier it got. Kuron realized that it was guilt. He felt guilty for all the crimes. He closed his eyes and sighed. In the darkness, he saw the outline of Masako, in that cursed room. She let out a laugh that was like sharpened knives. She wagged a finger at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you,” she lorded. “You have a lot of sins to atone for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuron grit his teeth in frustration. He let out a growl and opened them to look back up at the faces of his brother and his consort. It was as if they were waiting for him to say something. He could feel it wanting to come out. But he bit it down. He stood up and wiped the dust and debris off his clothes and picked up the ice sword and sheathed it. He kicked some of the pieces of the broken hands towards the statues. He grabbed the torch he had dropped and looked longingly at the statues of his family. Then he hastily departed, hoping to escape the ghosts that followed him. Takashi’s kind eyes, still burning in his memory.      </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Drop a comment below! You can find me @adashisoul :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lance I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Back with a new chapter, with a new character :) Enjoy! </p><p>(Not edited or beta'd)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Lance woke up, he found that he was on the floor in the secret meeting room hidden deep underneath the castle of Marcasa. The second thing that he realized was that his head felt as if he was trampled on by horses and that he didn’t remember how he got onto the floor and why his head felt that way. It was only after he got over the initial surprise and confusion that he noticed three faces hovering above him in various states of concern and shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a groan and put a hand on to his throbbing head as if that would help as he sat up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened?” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dim light of the torches and candles, he saw Rashida, the princess of Shamslaka, Veronica, his older sister, and Curtis, the lord of Marcasa and Veronica’s husband all exchange glances with each other. Curtis turned back to Lance. Even in the damp and darkroom, his startling blue eyes could be seen clearly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you remember?” he asked in a careful tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance waved his hand and shrugged his shoulders. “We were talking about how the Galra somehow tricked us into letting them come to our shores to sack Altea. How we can no longer trust anyone, and how Ryou the former prince of Tsukoku has come back under a new alias to kill his way to the Moon Throne.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scratched his head trying to remember anything else, but it was all muddled. Like he was trying to see clearly in muddied waters. Veronica bent down and picked something off the ground. It was a beautiful marble white with accents of blue. </span>
  <span>There was a handle in the middle that was made for gripping, and on either side, it extended into crescent shapes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember grabbing this, Lance?” Rashida asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica held out the weapon and Lance hesitated before taking it. When he gripped the middle piece, a surge of energy flowed through him. He let out a gasp as before his eyes he saw pieces of history flash. The original paladin and Blue Lion of Voltron, a man named Blaytz. He had hailed from a tiny island off the Altae Peninsula, the Nalquodian Archipelago. A small civilization of fishermen who in the early days of the Old Altean Empire became a valuable ally and source of trade. Blaytz was a tall and muscular man, with blue hair that was sheared on either side. He had dark blue stripes tattooed on his face, neck, and arms. He always wore an easy smile though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw how when the Alteans turned on their Nalquadian allies to conquer them, that Blaytz had led the charge of the fight. He had lived through the battle, and even though he had killed their own, the Alteans had seen the potential in him. They sent word to Alfor I, or Alfor the Conqueror, who had been building secret weapons, looking for a team of elite warriors to form the Lions of Voltron, to protect his new and expanding empire. He saw the first time Blaytz held the same bayard, how his eyes had glowed blue as the power of the alchemy surged through him. How the bayard shifted into a bow that glowed the same Altean blue everyone knew was associated with Altean alchemy. How all had had to do was pull the energy string back to form an arrow made of energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance saw the battles the original paladins fought together, keeping invaders, pirates, and criminals at bay. But also helping all those in need of assistance. The camaraderie that they all had was legendary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As fast as it had come, the visions left. Lance opened his eyes and was back in the secret meeting room again. He let out a cough, and Veronica dropped to her knees to give him some water to drink and rub his back; something she did when he was a kid. He dropped the bayard into his lap and rubbed his eyes with his fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It did that thing again,” Curtis said. “As soon as you touched it, your eyes started to glow blue.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the original Bayard of the Blue Lion. It belonged to its paladin, a Nalquodian man named Blaytz,” Lance replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gasps were let out. “It can’t be,” Veronica whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance stood up from the ground and dusted off his nightclothes. “I know what I saw. It was visions of history. I saw Blaytz fight the Old Alteans during their conquests. I saw him be hand-picked to be the original paladin of the Blue Lion. I saw him fighting battles with the other Lions. The paladins were real people; not just some awesome myths.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curtis sat in one of the chairs that surrounded the large map of the world. He picked up one of the many figurines and started to twirl it around his fingers as he ran his other hand through his hair, mussing it up. Veronica and Rashida followed suit. Rashida gave him a hand squeeze, and Veronica put her arm around his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> bayard of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>original</span>
  </em>
  <span> Blue Lion, this entire time, and I didn’t even know about it,” Curtis whispered in awe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance was afraid of picking up the bayard, lest he get more visions of its history. Rashida leaned down from her seat to pick it up for him. She flashed him a small smile as she put it on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one could’ve known,” Veronica said to try and ease Curtis. “Almost everyone believed the Paladins and Lions to be a myth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curtis shook his head. “We’ve always had maybe some suspicion. But my family always just thought of it as a folly and fantasy. ‘What if this was the actual blue bayard?’ we’d joke to each other before laughing it off. Every person who had been a child in this family played pretend with it like we were the actual Blue Paladin, but we never would've ever thought that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curtis put the figurine he had been toying with on the map with a thud, right over Agupalico, the capital city of Riorieno, and the stronghold of his family. Curtis then gestured to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always assumed that if any of it had been real, and that the Blue Lion had come here to found their own kingdom, the bayard or anything related to them would be there. The capital of Riorieno. Not here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica stood up from the table and went rifling through some of the chests. They all watched her with a curious eye. After a minute she found what she was looking for and came back. In her hands was a rolled-up map. She laid it out across the table, placing weights on the corners so it didn’t curl up. It was an old map, yellowed from age. But it also looked much different than the Voltronus that Lance knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This map is dated from sometime before the Wars of Bloody Conquest started,” Veronica said. “I’d say probably by at least three decades.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance’s older sister was very much into history and maps. She dreamed of being a cartographer and loved looking at maps and figuring out their dates based on political, and geographical boundaries. She picked up a figurine and placed it on Marcasa. On this map, Agupalico was not even on it. It had not been founded yet. Lance glanced at the map of the seven kingdoms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Koriyuden was there, but the cities of Tatsuo Heiho or Fuyutori had not existed yet. Samawang was still incorporated by Shamslaka was one big kingdom. Metqora, where the Great Pyramids were, was still a city rather than ruins of one. Dawqasr, the capital, had not existed but was instead at Verqasr to the east. Silvregnum was nonexistent and still known as Olkarion. Noctin was not the cursed place, but instead a beautiful city in its prime. Riorieno was still a part of Altea rather than its own kingdom, but where Altea proper was colored white, the boundaries of Riorieno were colored a nice blue. Ancient roads of trade were marked through the kingdoms. And deep in the Marmora and U’ursa mountains, was the fabled Balmera city of Bal Uticixa. Lance had never seen a map this old before, and he was amazed at how different the world was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The map was simplistic looking compared to the ones now, but it was colorful. A depiction of the Great Pyramids was drawn in the deserts of Shamslaka, and a picture of a queen holding what had to be a nugget of gold was shown where Verqasr was. Veronica pointed to the small drawing of the queen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is Queen Adtussa I. She was the great-great-granddaughter to Verneith, the warrior queen and first ruler of Shamslaka. She had followed in Verneith’s footsteps and went north to expand the new empire while acquiring vast amounts of wealth through gold mines found. Hence, the golden nugget she’s holding. But she was a benevolent ruler, or at least as benevolent as a conqueror can be I guess. People from all around the world flocked to Shamslaka and Verqasr to see the Golden Palace of the Sun. Verqasr was said to have the streets paved with gold, and Adtussa adorned in so much of it that it was thought she really did come from Shamsa, their sun deity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica almost seemed giddy talking about the old queen. Looking at a map so old, it made Lance see what his sister saw in history. Rather than it being just old tomes and boring dates, like how his masters taught it. But it involved real people, with real problems, and real ambitions. It made him wonder how history would remember him, or if he will become just part of the sands of it. He glanced at the Bayard on the table, feeling it sing to him. He felt compelled to hold it again, to feel that power surge through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance felt a flick on his forehead, bringing him out of his thoughts. Veronica was looking at him from behind her spectacles and had her arms crossed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you paying attention?” she asked.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sister rolled her eyes but then pointed back to the figurine that was on Marcasa. Everyone looked at it intently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at the picture next to Marcasa,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all leaned forward to get a better look. Where the city was named, there was a faded looking cat figure colored a dark blue with yellow eyes. Lance furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks like a cat,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica nodded. “Yes, but not any cat. A</span>
  <em>
    <span> lion</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Or well, lioness if we’re being technical.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Curtis and Rashida’s eyebrows rose up in unison. “You can’t mean…”Rashida said before trailing off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica smirked. “Yes, I do. Riorieno was not yet an independent kingdom yet. That won’t come until after the Bloody War was over. But, it is a major province at this point. Big enough that the people who created this map decided to color it differently than Altea proper. And Agupalico isn’t even on here yet. But look at what is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcasa,” Curtis said. “Are you implying that this was the original capital of the kingdom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Veronica replied with certainty. “This is where the Blue Lion went and vanished. I would be willing to bet all the gold in the world that this very room we are in, belonged to the old kings and governors, and over the centuries we just built over it rather than completely demolishing it. And somewhere along the way, the bayard and any evidence of the Blue Lion had been hidden until someone in your family found the bayard and kept it, not knowing the true meaning of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gestured to the map as a whole. “I mean this map was hidden deep in the secret tunnels and catacombs of the castle. It was an important piece of evidence that in the wrong hands could be disastrous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you see here?” she asked pointing towards the northernmost part of the Continent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tsuki’s Pass, which was also another well-known ruin, was instead marked as a city on the map. And surrounding it like a foggy shadow, was the shape of another cat. Another lion. Rashida’s mouth dropped open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The black lion?” she wondered. “That’s not possible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it is!” Veronica exclaimed. “Hiding the evidence of the most powerful lion in the harsh tundras of the north is genius! This is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>key</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my friends. This is how we can find the other bayards and finally have the lions of Voltron again. And we just found our first paladin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curtis shook his head. “This is madness.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica put her hands on her husband’s shoulders and shook them. “Yes, it is! But these are not normal times. Everything's coming together finally. If we are looking for the lions and paladins, that means we won’t be the only ones either. The sacking of Altea was not a one-off. The Galra were looking for something. Why attack there when they could attack any other city in the kingdoms?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Altea is where it began. When they cursed the Old Empire to blight, they took their secrets and alchemy with them here,” Lance said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica snapped her fingers. “Exactly! Oriande and Guild of Alchemists are so secretive that no one for sure knows who are members of it, except the members themselves. Oriande holds all the secrets, and if you can find the true Oriande then you can find the key to the lions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are lucky we found this map. It meant that at one point, someone had been a part of the Guild and stole the map for themselves. You wouldn’t find this anywhere but Oriande because it marks the Lions. It holds the secrets for where you can find the bayards.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s great, but there’s no point in finding the bayards if you don’t know who is supposed to wield them,” Rashida pointed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica sighed and nodded. Her excitement petering out for a moment. “I know. And I have an idea, but it may sound insane.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curtis pursed his lips. “Any idea is an idea at this point. What do you have Ronnie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picked up another figure and placed it on the capital of Bal Uticixa. There was a beautiful drawing of what Lance assumed to be a Balmeran, and with it a faded out yellow cat. The yellow lion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe that Bal Uticixa still exists and that the Balmerans still live.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Curtis asked in surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica held her hands up. “I know, I know. But I’ve done a lot of traveling. I’ve been to the place where the old city was supposed to be and I didn’t find exactly what I was looking for. It didn’t look abandoned and deserted as I expected. The ruins looked pretty well maintained considering. It’s just that they were said to have dwelled in caves and underground tunnels that were so magnificent that it was as if you were never under the earth, to begin with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a place and people that had been told to have been decimated during the Bloody Wars, it sure didn’t look it. It just felt as if one day the people just left the place to go somewhere else, but didn’t go too far. I think they still live, but just away from us. And if anyone knows about quintessence, it is the Balmera. They may be the key to finding the bayards and the paladins they belong to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance let out a deep exhale. “That is a lot to take in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But the wheels are in motion,” Veronica said. “I can sense it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around at the three of them. Then he glanced at the bayard, the power emanating from it. The power that for whatever reason had been gifted to Lance. He let out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, shall we begin planning then?”   </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was gonna add a little more...but I stopped. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! </p><p>As always comments are always welcomed and encouraged by yours truly :) </p><p>You can find me @adashisoul on tumblr</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Shiro I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's been a while, but here is a new chapter! Enjoy! </p><p>(not edited or beta'd)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time Shiro had stepped onto the land at the port of Storm’s Reach, he nearly fell to his knees and cried. It took all his strength not to bow, and praise Tsuki, and Shamsa and any of the other gods that would listen to him. He had breathed in the salty air of low tide, of the bodies that moved back and forth through the docks. The perfumes imported from as far east as the Jade Islands, the ones that those who could afford them loved to douse themselves in. He remembered his mother was a fan of the rare jasmine one. He could close his eyes, and recall the soft scent, wafting through whatever room she graced her presence with. The way he never wanted to leave a hug with her, as she gently carded her fingers through his hair. It pained him to know that the marching of time was causing him to lose the image of what she looked like, but he knew he’d never forget the jasmine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had taken a hold of the coins that he had been given during his escape, counting each piece carefully to figure out how to best make passage to where he was needed. Shiro had to get to Marcasa. To Curtis, one of his closest childhood friends. Shiro had stepped off the docks and made his way through the merchant district of Storm’s Reach. He had gone into a tavern to get some hot food, which he ate with vigor. It had been so long since he had a meal like that. He had then found a pair of rusty shears and mourned the loss of his hair as he cut it off. It had become matted and louse filled in his capture and escape, and it would disguise him from recognition. He needed to remain anonymous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had stayed in Storm’s Reach for a fortnight to get his bearings with him again. He worked odd jobs to secure more coin for his travels. He did not mind the hard work of gutting fish and other sea creatures to give to the merchants to sell. It was not glamorous, but it got the job done. Most days, Shiro forgot that he was a king of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world. It had been so long since he held that title. Most people thought him dead, and in some respects they were right. The Shiro of old was long gone, beaten out of him in the gladiator rings of Daibazaal, but a new Shiro had risen from the ashes anew. With more strength, more conviction. The old Shiro had been complacent in his role in the world, and he took it for granted. He no longer would; he couldn’t afford to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he had gotten enough coin, he traded it for a horse. It was an old mare, well past her prime, but Shiro didn’t care. The silver had looked at him, and Shiro knew he could trust her. He wished the owner well, and he had slowly packed his meager supplies and started to make his way north towards Marcasa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of Riorieno was forests. Towards the west, and the capital, Agupalicio, it became more tropical and humid. But the east that shared the border with Altea and his own kingdom of Tsukoku, it was more temperate. Large redwoods towered high up into the sky, looming and watching like ever dutiful sentinels. Most of the trees in these forests were alive well before the seven kingdoms emerged, and would be there long after they were gone. He followed the markers of routes, written by travelers of old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped in small villages, where they welcomed him with a wary eye, and cautious words. Shiro had bought a pair of gloves in Storm’s Reach, as to hide the new arm that the Druids of Diabazaal had given to him. Anyone who saw it would become suspicious. It would be unlike anything ever seen before. It worked like a real hand, it moved with him with ease. He flexed his fingers and was able to move his wrist around as if it were flesh. And when he needed it could become heat activated. It was strange magic and advanced alchemy of some kind. Shiro wasn’t even sure if the Guild of Alchemists could make something like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the small villages, the people lived on edge. They were not welcoming to newcomers and travelers alone with nothing to sell. Many just gave him a wide berth, as they sat in the small tavern, drinking their ales and hot food. This particular village was a coal mining one. The workers were covered in soot and coal debris, just looking for a place to unwind at the end of a grueling workday. Shiro sat alone at a table nursing an ale of his own, ignoring the whispers, and letting the soft strum of a lute wash over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw an older man eyeing him as another man talking about something in his ear. The man’s brown eyes were piercing as he continued to stare and nod occasionally. Shiro pointedly ignored him and took a large bite of the roasted duck that had been served to him. Grease dribbled down his chin, as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. A wooden pint glass slammed down on the table, causing Shiro to look up. The man sat down across from him and leaned back in his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin looked like weathered leather, he had deep wrinkle lines and crow's feet. His hair was buzzed, and he had a good shadow growing on his jaw. He looked Shiro up and down for a long moment before he took a sip of his ale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your deal, newcomer?” he finally asked around a sigh. Foam from the beer covered his upper lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” Shiro replied. The man's eyebrows raised as he heard Shiro speak. The man then just gestured to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’ya comin’ from? Where’ya goin’ to? You are obviously a weary traveler, but you’re not a merchant. You clergy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro let out a scoff and shook his head, hiding it behind a sip of ale for himself. “No. Not clergy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a lost soul then,” the man replied, his head tilted. His eyes were kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could say that. Trying to find my way back again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man hummed, his lips pursed. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, just letting their surroundings engulf them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, we’re wary of travelers of your sort. Ever since Altea got attacked, and the throne of Tsukoku got toppled, we never know if we’re going to be next on the casualties list,” he said, breaking the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man let out a hollow chuckle, rubbing his face. A smear of black soot covered his cheek. Shiro noticed how dirty his hands were; how hard and calloused they were. The hands of a hard-working man. Shiro could imagine his own under the gloves he wore. Calloused from years of swordwork, but never dirty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The leaders of the kingdoms have run like bitches with their tails between their asses,” the man continued. “Our local lords are shuttering up their doors, leaving us to fend for ourselves. No one cares about us unless it’s to take our money and our land.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro let the man rant, and he listened intently. He listened to him state the problems of his town and how he felt left behind and abused. He could only listen and try and understand the pain. But Shiro had latched on to one piece of information he had mentioned. He leaned forward at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was it you said about Tsukoku?” he finally asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man had taken a piece of the bread off Shiro’s plate for himself and dunked it into a broth that had long gone cold. He bit a chunk out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The throne, ever since the kings there and their brood went missing, it’s been a mess,” he said between chews. “I don’t know much about Tsukokian politics, or politics really in general, but rumors spread even through different kingdoms. The new king calls himself Kuron. Was the prince Ryou, and took the throne for himself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro felt a pit fall into his stomach hearing the news. He blinked slowly, trying to process the news. “King Adam, the princes, and princesses, there is no news from them?” he asked, a desperate tone in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man grunted. “Not that I know. But we don’t know much except for what we hear from the cities. I’d wager they’re dead by now. It had been a year since anyone saw or heard from them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt despair fill his insides. The sting of tears pooling in his eyes, and then falling. The man looked up from his food, his eyes widened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” he said. “Are you Tsukokian? Of course, you are, it should’ve been obvious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then reached and put a hand on his arm. The man tried for a sympathetic smile, but it came out more of a grimace. Shiro appreciated the effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But have you been living under a rock?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro chuckled. “I was away for a while. Traveling the world, didn’t get to hear much while I was gone,” he lied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Makes sense. Well, you picked a shit time to come back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wiped his eyes and they both shared a laugh across the table. Shiro lifted his pint and the man followed, knocking glasses. “Cheers to that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talked for a while until the crowds started to die out. It was when the barmaid called the last call, that they decided to wrap it up. Shiro finished the rest of his pint, feeling the effects of the alcohol in his body. Numbing the pain. The man wrapped an arm around him, stumbling with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come back with me,” he slurred. “It’ll be better than getting ripped off for this shit. I have a spare cot, you can sleep there for the night and be gone by morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stared at the man, mulling over his options. He nodded, accepting the generous offer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are too kind,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man scoffed. “Bah, enough with that talk. You sound like one of them fancy nobles. It looks like you’ve been through hell, and trust me I get it. If I can at least do one good deed for someone, it’ll be worth it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked out of the tavern together, and Shiro got his silver with his supplies. The man led down a dirt path towards the village proper until they got to a small house. He stumbled with a key from his pocket, and put it in the lock, opening the wood door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a place out back you can tie your steed to,” the man said. Shiro nodded and went back and tied her. He gently pet her snout before walking back and in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was small and simple. There was a small fireplace, with a wooden table and a single chair. On the opposite side of the room was a small cot, stuffed with hay, and a wool blanket. The man came out from another side dragging a cot and put it on the floor, dusting his hands. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not much, but it’s free at least,” he joked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro didn’t care. He brought himself down to the cot and laid down, looking up at the ceiling. The man stepped over him to his own cot. It was dark and cold in the room, but it was the best place he had found shelter in a long time. As he stared upward, he thought of all the times he stargazed with Adam. Pointing out the different constellations, and comparing the different ones they saw in their night sky. Allowing their body heat to warm them in the bitter cold winters of Tsukoku, or the nice summer breezes in Shamslaka. He prayed to every deity that would listen that his beloved was still alive. Just in hiding for his own protection. He would not be able to bear it if he had lost him. He needed to get to Marcasa. He needed to know more information. Information Curtis would have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ever had a family?” the man’s voice came in the dark. It was thick with sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sighed. “Yes. A husband and four kids,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man hummed. The only noise in the room was their steady breathing. “What happened to them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro thought for a long moment. Trying to figure out what he could say to the man. The stranger who had taken him in for the night. The man who worked tirelessly day in and day out in a mine, just as his father and grandfather had done before him. Who talked about not being smart, but knowing so much about the world, proving himself wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lost them,” he finally said. He would not elaborate. “You have a family?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The home was built for one person. But that didn’t mean he had always been alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, wife and five kids. Lost them to famine. Don’t know what I did to deserve to be alive when it should’ve been them instead,” he muttered. A hollow chuckle escaped him. “Funny how life works, huh? If the gods made any sense, they’d still be here, and I’d be in a simple grave somewhere with the rest of my ancestors.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If everything made sense, then the gods wouldn’t have a reason to exist,” Shiro whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha,” he let out. “Spoken like a true wise man and disciple. You sure you’re not clergy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smirked in the dark and shook his head. “Sure. I guess I just have some experience with the gods.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t we all. So where you heading next?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcasa.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” the man said. “The big city. That’s still a three days journey up the river from here. But Lord Acosta had shuttered up the gates. You won’t be able to get in without a good reason.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had been thinking long and hard about that dilemma. There was no way he could just show up at the gates demanding an audience with the local lord because he was Takashi, rightful King of Tsukoku. The king that had been professed to be dead. People would ship him off the local asylum faster than he could blink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed in acknowledgment. “That may be true. Do you have a rookery?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro could see the man turn to face him in the dark. “The local temple next town over has one. Why would you need that though?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To send a letter. I think that may be my chance to get in the gates. Someone in Marcasa owes me a favor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shifted back in his bed. “I’m not one for asking questions. Good night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sighed. He was one step closer to his destiny. “Good night.”                 </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yay some shiro action! </p><p>You can come visit me on tumblr at adashisoul :) (Drop some comments and kudos below please!) </p><p>Thanks for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And Lotor has entered the fray! </p><p>Let me know what you think! Drop some comments below pls and thank you!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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